Easter Child Story
See once again that young face — the you from many, many summers ago — smiling from the past, so earnest, so curious, so innocently wise. See that young face again — the once and future you. Hold onto that memory with yourself, embrace the child you once were, and release the love of a lifetime. Bishop Stephen Charleston.
I was born on Easter Sunday. My name is Joanna. My parents had planned to name me Jo Anna after my mother’s parents, Joe and Anna. However, before my mother woke up from her anesthesia after I was born, my father combined the names Jo and Anna and added a middle name, Marie. This reveals something about my parents’ relationship, which probably began before I was born. Marie, my father’s favorite sister, married the day before I was born. My father missed most of the wedding celebration because of my imminent arrival, so I guess I was his wedding gift to his sister!
I remember the first Easter in a picture I keep as a sacred reminder on my desk. It was taken the Easter before my brother was born, so I must have been barely two years old. I am standing in front of our first house by the Mattaponi River at the corner of Second and Lee Streets. The screened-in front porch is in the background, with maybe an Easter basket on it. There is a scruffy shrub on my right side. My head barely reaches the floor of the screened-in porch. The small photograph is in black and white, and the silver from the photograph has transformed the clear plastic cover over the years to a grayish-yellow color, leaving parts of the picture mystically missing. Other features are in low light, giving the photograph an Easter film noir look.
I believe my woven-brimmed hat is white with a black ribbon around it. My memory indicates that my coat is made of light pink wool with fake pockets and large buttons. The coat drapes unevenly, just above my knees. I am sure one of my kind grandmothers made my Easter coat. My left shoulder seems slightly higher than my right. The tips of my hands are barely visible, tucked under the coat as my arms hang straight down, almost at attention by my sides.
I am wearing a small homemade corsage on my left lapel. I can't quite tell what the flower is, but it might be a tiny rose. Around my neck and overlapping my coat is a ruffled white collar with a small black bow, which must be the top of my homemade dress hidden underneath my coat. I can't see my feet, but my legs look good. My eyes are wide open, and my straight blond hair has been curled, probably with toilet paper, the night before. I have a look of serene panic on my face, as if I don't know what will happen next, but I will be ready.
This picture symbolizes my inner child. I hope to meet her again someday. For now, I keep her close, always on my desktop next to my Apple. I want her to know that everything is okay and that she will never be harmed. It's Easter, a celebration of new life overcoming death. She will never be abandoned again.
We will go shopping for her new Easter outfit. I will tell her the Easter story and remind her how much she is loved. I will bring her flowers, such as violets, tulips, or daffodils. We will attend an Easter egg hunt, and I will give her a noisy gong to ring at the Easter Vigil. I’ll gather more flowers for her, maybe azaleas from our backyard to decorate the cross on Easter Day, and then ask her if she would like to sing with the other children at the Easter Day service someday. I’ll secretly leave a little extra chocolate for her at the Easter brunch, rest with her in the afternoon, play with her the next day, Easter Monday—and maybe even go to a movie.
She is my inner child, born on Easter Sunday. I will remind her that this year, Easter was once again a celebration of her birthday. Her real name is JoAnna, and the God who loves her constantly tells her she is deeply loved, especially by those who share her name.
Our inner child may have been frightened during this pandemic and during these times of social and global unrest. Do something joyful and caring with them; it can make a big difference. Our inner child exists in the present moment, where God most often resides. We often encounter Jesus through our inner child, where Jesus loves to dwell.
Anyone who does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it. Then he took them in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.—Mark 10:15-16.
Pray for the children of Ukraine, Sudan, the Middle East, and those in our country who are in harm’s way.
Joanna joannaseibert.com https://www.joannaseibert.com/